Mydworth Mysteries - Dead of Night E-Book

Matthew Costello

• Herausgeber: Bastei Entertainment
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Serie: A Cosy Historical Mystery Series
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 188

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

From the authors of the best-selling series CHERRINGHAM

When Sir Harry’s Aunt Lavinia invites her friends from The Arts Club down to Mydworth Manor for a weekend of Bohemian fun, she’s not expecting a prince to turn up too, eager to join in the frolics. But when a body turns up in the prince's bedroom, it’s up to Harry and Kat to find the killer. Can they solve the crime before the family is dragged down by secrets and scandal?

Co-authors Neil Richards (based in the UK) and Matthew Costello (based in the US), have been writing together since the mid-90s, creating innovative content and working on major projects for the BBC, Disney Channel, Sony, ABC, Eidos, and Nintendo to name but a few. Their transatlantic collaboration has underpinned scores of TV drama scripts, computer games, radio shows, and the best-selling mystery series Cherringham. Their latest series project is called Mydworth Mysteries.

Leseprobe

Contents

Cover

Mydworth Mysteries

About the Book

Main Characters

Title

1. A Bubbly Welcome

2. An Unexpected Arrival – Part One

3. An Unexpected Arrival – Part Two

4. A Very Late-Night Call

5. A Plan of Action

6. An Early Morning Ride

7. A Clue

8. A Rather Interesting Suspect

9. A Fruitful Search

10. Croquet Anyone?

11. A Dash to London

12. More Revelations

13. Dumb Crambo

14. The Game Ends

15. A Last Surprise

16. Tea on the Terrace

The Authors

Reading Sample

Copyright

Mydworth Mysteries

Mydworth Mysteries is a series of self-contained novella-length mysteries, published in English and German. The stories are currently available as e-books and will soon be available as audiobooks in both languages.

About the Book

When Sir Harry’s Aunt Lavinia invites her friends from The Arts Club down to Mydworth Manor for a weekend of Bohemian fun, she’s not expecting a prince to turn up too, eager to join in the frolics. But when a body turns up in the prince's bedroom, it’s up to Harry and Kat to find the killer. Can they solve the crime before the family is dragged down by secrets and scandal?

Main Characters

Sir Harry Mortimer, 30 – Born into a wealthy English aristocratic family, Harry is smart, funny and adventurous. Ten years in secret government service around the world has given him the perfect training to solve crimes; and though his title allows him access to the highest levels of English society, he’s just as much at home sipping a warm beer in the garden of a Sussex pub with his girl from the wrong side of the tracks – Kat Reilly.

Kat Reilly –Lady Mortimer, 29 – Kat grew up in the Bronx, right on Broadway. Her mother passed away when she was only eleven and she then helped her father run his small local bar The Lucky Shamrock. But Kat felt the call to adventure and excitement, first as a nurse on the battlefields of France, then working a series of jobs back in New York. After finishing college, she was recruited by the State Department, where she learned skills that would more than make her a match for the dashing Harry. To some, theirs is an unlikely pairing, but to those who know them both well, it’s nothing short of perfect.

MATTHEW COSTELLONEIL RICHARDS

Dead of Night

1. A Bubbly Welcome

Lady Lavinia Fitzhenry leaned back on the chaise longue, took a sip of champagne, a rather delicious ̓21 Dom Pérignon, and looked out at her guests gathered in the salon of Mydworth Manor.

So far, all appeared to be going swimmingly for her little Chelsea Arts Club weekend gathering.

This annual bash for a select group of fellow club members was a tradition for her, but she always liked to mix up the small guest list from time to time. New faces, new encounters – always fun with the lively Arts Club crowd.

In fact, there were times – she smiled at the memory – when things had even got a little “out of hand”.

She saw that Noel Coward was – where she’d expect – seated at the keyboard of the grand Bosendorfer, smiling and improvising a tune that, Lavinia guessed, would no doubt soon be a published one.

Such a creative spirit, she thought. Words, music... and apparently making money hand over fist. One West End success after another!

Good for him! she thought.

André Caras, fixer, theatrical angel, always effusive, a real party-goer by reputation, leaned on the piano at Noel’s side, nodding his head to the just-composed ditty.

At which point, an alumna from last year’s party weekend, the American actress Myrna Thornhill came over.

With her fetching and impish smile, she had won hearts on both sides of the pond – West End and Broadway. She was one of those women who commanded attention in any room. Even if she wasn’t quite the young starlet any more, she had sparkling eyes that matched the champagne and candlelight.

She gently clinked the edge of her flute with Lavinia’s and joined her on the chaise longue.

“Must say, Lavinia,” said Myrna, inserting a cigarette into a long holder and lighting it, “rather an eclectic assortment this year.”

Lavinia smiled. “Of course. Makes the possibility of the unexpected and the serendipitous so much more likely, don’t you think?”

“And who doesn’t love serendipity?” said Myrna, blowing an elegant wisp of smoke into the air. “I see that Noel’s caught the attention of Mr Moneybags.”

“André, you mean? I know. Very sweet. He told me Noel was one of his West End idols and, as we both know, Noel thrives on adoration.”

“Indeed. But I simply must ask... that slim young thing over there by the piano? Is she an Arts Club member?”

Lavinia nodded. “Certainly is. Cassandra Jones.”

“Hmm. Not ringing any bells.”

“That, my dear Myrna, is because you have yet to develop a taste for the ballet. I saw her in one of Marie Rambert’s shows at the Mercury. Rather breathless watching her – almost as if she could take flight!”

“Well, with a body like that, I wouldn’t be surprised. A good strong wind, and I imagine away she goes!”

Lavinia laughed. She did enjoy chatting with the always witty Myrna, who did quite well creating her own snappy – and salty – dialogue even when not following a script.

“I see that you also invited both the Kiers,” said Myrna.

Lavinia saw her friend glance over to the fireplace where the couple in question were engaged in intense conversation.

Georgia Kier rolling her eyes dramatically; her husband Gavin gesticulating wildly.

“Can’t invite one without the other – or so I’ve been told.”

“Tad serious though, the pair of them,” said Myrna.

“Well apparently they are very serious artists,” said Lavinia, laughing. “So, I suppose that would make sense.”

“Gavin’s so tiresome though. Always moaning about something or other.”

Lavinia wondered why Myrna seemed so dismissive of the couple – almost a sneer. But then she remembered the rumours from a few years back, that Myrna and Gavin had had a brief affair.

Just rumours... But maybe...

“They do squabble, too,” continued Myrna, not letting go of this bone.

“But, well, they are both extremely talented. And the art world is so exciting these days.”

“Is it?” said Myrna, blowing smoke in the air through pursed lips.

Lavinia decided to ignore Myrna’s current mood.

“I hear Georgia’s star is on the rise,” she said.

“Like her prices. Bet that doesn’t sit well with her communist husband.”

“A communist – really?” said Lavinia. “I rather had him down as an anarchist.”

“Darling, anarchists are so last year,” said Myrna.

“And what about Georgia? Don’t tell me she’s under the same spell!”

“Oh, now she’s earning the big bucks, she’s given up politics, apparently. Hence the bickering.”

For a moment, Lavinia wondered whether Myrna had a point. A couple like that, some friction simmering, could throw off the balance of what was to be – she hoped – a free and easy weekend.

“Oh, they’ll be fine,” Lavinia said.

Though she wasn’t really sure.

“Such a shame your Charles wasn’t able to join us,” she continued, changing the subject.

“I should be grateful for small mercies.”

Lavinia knew that Myrna, having married Charles Thornhill two years ago, had soon discovered some unfortunate facts about him that had tinged that impulsive decision with an ample amount of regret.

“Well, you did say that he had pressing business to attend to this weekend.”

Myrna didn’t answer – just looked away. Lavinia glanced around to make sure nobody else was in earshot.

“Things are no better between the two of you, I assume?”

“If anything, worse,” said Myrna. “Truth is though, I’m beyond caring. The man leaves me completely cold.”

“I am sorry to hear that.”

“Oh, don’t be. Anyway. Thank God – I shan’t have to endure it for much longer.”

“No?” said Lavinia, surprised – and hoping her friend would elucidate. But she didn’t.

“What a fool I was. Just shows how naïve we Americans can be. With his claim to some kind of title, centuries of family history... was I wrong to think there’d be estates lavish on offer?”

“Cash in hand?”

Myrna laughed. “That too! Did picture quite a different life here, with him. Well, certainly turned out to be different. Cooped up in that little apartment, him coming home all hours, you know... whatever money he had, poof! Gone!”

Lavinia put her hand on Myrna’s wrist, wondering if there were darker secrets in the relationship than Myrna ever revealed.

“I’m always here, my dear, if you need support,” she said. “No matter what.”

“Don’t fret on my behalf,” said Myrna, stubbing out her cigarette. “You know, someday I may write a book about it. A Survivor’s Guide to the English Upper Classes. Oh sorry – present company very much excluded!”

Lavinia laughed at that. In truth, she was much relieved that Charles Thornhill had been unable to join the weekend party. Having met him at assorted dinner and club events, she had to admit he was... difficult. Self-absorbed, to be sure. And not much in the wit and repartee department!

So, yes, much better to have lively Myrna here solo. Though she also knew that her actress friend – freed from marital eyes upon her – could often get into a spot of trouble.

Myrna stood – drained her champagne flute. “Think I will powder my nose before getting a refill.”

Myrna sailed away. Benton, Lavinia’s butler, suddenly appeared beside her, holding the drinks tray.

“Another glass of champagne m’lady?” he said.

“Thank you, Benton,” said Lavinia, handing him her empty flute and taking a fresh one. She noticed an unusual frown on his face.

“Everything in order?” she said.

“Yes m’lady.” Then he paused. “Although... a request has come from Mr Coward.”

“Yes?”

Benton always needed to have such information prised out of him as if it were the lovely meat of an oyster.

“Mr Coward asked that, in lieu of the champagne, he might have something called a ‘Rob Roy’.”

“I see. Why, of course he may.”

She saw that that did not put Benton into motion.

“Yes, m’lady. But you see, I don’t know how to mix such a concoction. In fact, I’m quite sure I’ve never heard of it before.”

These days, new cocktails were being dreamed up almost daily, and Lavinia didn’t have a clue what went into a Rob Roy.

She also had to wonder, was this simply Noel being Noel, making a quirky request of her rural Sussex staff? Or had he perhaps sampled the thing on his recent trip to Manhattan’s Great White Way, becoming the toast of that town as well?

But Lavinia had a solution.

Of course, she did.

“Benton, I suggest you ask McLeod. I mean – a drink called a ‘Rob Roy’? I would be very surprised if our Scottish chef had not already crossed paths with it.”

Benton nodded at this, but no smile of relief crossed his face. She knew that Benton and McLeod were about as opposite as two peas in the same country house pod could be.

“Yes, m’lady, if you say so.”

He walked away just as the tempo of what was being played on the piano picked up. This she recognised! Something Lavinia knew from Noel’s recent hit operetta, Bitter Sweet.

Jolly good tune, she thought.

And matching the party’s mood, which seemed to be getting livelier.

She stood and walked over to join her guests gathered at the piano.

*

After another round of songs, Noel had declared himself “bereft of inspiration” and now sat gossiping with Myrna on the window seat.

Lavinia stood with André by the gramophone, sifting through her records in search of the perfect music to keep the party atmosphere going before dinner.

André, Lavinia noted, seemed to be on his second or even third flute, and with each sip, his humour was becoming even more gregarious.

“So,” he said, leaning in close. “I told Gavin... dear boy, ofcourse you are struggling! What do you expect? You’re an artist – you’re supposed to be struggling!”

André laughed loudly at that, and Lavinia worried that perhaps he had upset her artist guest.

She glanced across the room: Georgia Kier sat at the piano idly tapping at the keys. But there was no sign of Gavin.

Oh dear, she thought.

“My dear André, I do hope he didn’t take that badly?”

“Oh, don’t worry. I told him I had contacts with all the best London galleries, some of whom I knew still had slots open for a show in the autumn. Maybe even a grand retrospective? That brightened his demeanour considerably.”

Lavinia fixed him with a glance. “And is that true?”

“My dear Lavinia, of course it is. I mean who in any of the worlds represented here would I not know?”

Lavinia had no reason to doubt that. André had a reputation – besides having an acerbic wit – of being generous and supportive to artistic endeavours of all kinds.

Although word had it he was an enigma when it came to personal matters.

That was okay. Lavinia liked enigmas.

“Aha!” he said, sliding a record from its sleeve. “Fats Waller! ‘Ain’t Misbehavin’’! Perfect! What better for our little Sussex soirée?”

As André turned to put on the record, Lavinia heard the chime of the doorbell.

She glanced across at Benton and saw his eyebrows go up.

Someone arriving.

Which was not that unusual – except for the fact that no one else was expected.

Benton gave a sharp look at Jenny, the young maid who was circulating the canapes that McLeod had sent up – his first volley in what Lavinia was sure would be a splendid dinner.

Then Benton marched into the unknown... in this case out, to the hallway.

With the music now playing, no one else seemed to have noticed that the butler had been summoned to the door.

Lavinia could just make out the sound of men’s voices from the hall – and then Benton returned to the salon and walked briskly over to her.

Rarely had Lavinia known him to be unsettled by events. But now – was that a hint of alarm she could see on his face?

He leaned in unusually close to her, his words barely audible.

“An unexpected guest, m’lady.”

“Really?” said Lavinia. “Now, of all times?”

“Indeed.”

“Well then – who is it?”

“Ahem,” said Benton, frowning. “It’s the um...”

“Oh, do spit it out, Benton.”

“Yes m’lady. Well, you see... It’s... it’s His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales.”

2. An Unexpected Arrival – Part One

As if making a grand entrance onto the stage, Prince Edward walked briskly into the room, cigarette in one hand, flashing his world-famous – and quite attractive – smile. At once both boyish and charming in a rather superior way, she thought.

The future king scanned the crowd.

At which point, all turned to the door.

The sound of Fats Waller still singing “Ain’t Misbehavin’” suddenly seemed terribly loud to Lavinia – and ill-timed as well.

Fortunately, André also clearly realised this wasn’t the most appropriate of tunes to welcome the young prince, and she saw him quickly lift the needle from the record.

For a few seconds, silence.

Then dear Noel stood up (holding, Lavinia noticed, not a flute but one of her Waterford cut-crystal glasses containing an amber liquid – the elusive Rob Roy, perhaps?). He extended his hand with the glass and said theatrically, as if on cue: “A toast! His Royal Highness!”

Edward stood there, as the men (with the exception of Gavin Kier) made the traditional bow, and the women curtsied.

Lavinia followed suit as well. Her unexpected guest looked over and acknowledged his surprised hostess with a broadening of that smile. And then he raised his eyebrows in a way that – for a future monarch – looked positively impish.

Lavinia smiled back.

Wondering... what in the world is going on here?

As the prince walked straight in her direction.

*

“Your Royal Highness,” she said, performing an additional curtsy.

But Edward being Edward reached out and took her right hand in his.

“Lavinia, it is so good to see you.”

Lavinia smiled at that. All of a sudden it felt as if she were the guest at a reception held by the prince, and not at her own party at all!

“And you too, sir—”

“Tut. Tut. Old friends, right? ‘Edward’ will do just fine. And, I’m afraid, I do owe you something of an explanation, hmm?”

Lavinia was not at all sure what that explanation could be.

The prince took a step closer to her. “And perhaps an apology, too, for not giving you any warning of my impending arrival?”

“An apology is never required, sir,” said Lavinia (finding it impossible to address the prince in any other way). “You are, of course, always welcome at Mydworth Manor.”

“Too kind, too kind. You see, a little bird told me about this weekend fête of yours. And, you know, with my love of all the arts, and the sparkling company I knew you would have assembled, I decided to scamper away from my royal overseers.”

Again, that broad smile – the twinkle in his eyes. More than once, Lavinia had thought: In my younger days... well, that would have been interesting.

“Then you will stay for the weekend? I do hope so!”

Lavinia had no idea how the staff would cope, or which room might best be prepared, and how this might affect her plans for the next two days.

He made a slight moue of imploring. “If you will have me? Absolutely promise not to be a bother – at all. Just, well, you know this time of year, the palaces? York House empty. So boring. I simply had to escape.”

Lavinia knew that this future king had a reputation for “escaping”.

Much to the consternation, it was reported, of his father, King George V.

“Well, I’m totally thrilled you’re here, as I’m sure are the other guests.”

She couldn’t help glancing across at Gavin, who was standing with his wife, staring at the prince, his face set.

If looks could kill, she thought.

Lavinia now noticed a man – thin with a craggy face and bony features – had appeared at the door next to Benton.

“My butler Benton there will tend to your needs,” she said, nodding to the two men. “He and our housekeeper, Mrs Woodfine, will arrange matters with your... valet?”

“Oh yes, that’s Millet,” said the prince, then he leaned in confidentially, his voice low. “Sometimes – I must say – the man seems more like an evil-eyed watch dog. But if you have a spare chamber for him as well...”

“Absolutely. Benton will see to everything.”

And the prince laughed at that.

“Don’t you just love that about butlers? Like magicians who simply make things occur? Don’t know how ordinary folk live without one! Seems so unfair!”

And yes, Lavinia thought, Edward could be charming and even bold; but his world views – she had heard – could be quite different from the traditional attitudes of the House of Windsor.

“Forward-looking”, he had been called, and he’d been an absolute star in his tours abroad, with the Americans very much taken with the handsome and totally modern prince.

Though, Lavinia knew from past encounters, that was not exactly the full story.

“My cook McLeod is preparing what I’m sure will be a wonderful dinner.”

Edward looked around as she said that.

“Fabulous. Absolutely ravenous after the drive.”

Lavinia saw him quickly scan the room.

“I say – am I right in thinking one isn’t dressing for dinner?”

“Not tonight, sir, so do join us for drinks while your room is being made ready.”

“Good show,” said the prince, taking a glass of champagne from Jenny who stood to one side with her tray, her face quite flushed. “Don’t you just hate formalities?”

He turned to face the room, and she saw him look in the direction of Myrna Thornhill.

Lavinia had to wonder, had a little bird told him about this event?

Lavinia had heard rumours about her friend’s dalliances at late-night spots with the prince. The Kit Kat Club, the Café de Paris – hardly the most discreet of venues.

Perhaps it was the actress who had whispered into his ear?

He might be a modern prince, but he also had more than a dash of rogue and libertine in him. But, as ever, when Lavinia thought about such things she also thought, who am I to judge?

As the prince scanned the room, she saw his eyes fall – as of course they would – upon Cassandra Jones. And having landed there, the glance lingered.

“I assume you know everyone here, sir?”

He still hadn’t removed his steady gaze, aimed at the supple form of young Cassandra, dressed in a gown that shimmered, catching the candlelight.

Finally, he turned back to her.

“Not exactly everyone. For example, the young lady, right over there, near the piano? I’m afraid I have not had the pleasure.”

“Oh, she’s Cassandra Jones—”

“Ah, yes! The dancer. Of course. I’ve read the notices. Supposed to be quite something.”

“Shall I introduce you?”

“Oh no need. I’ll just tootle over and say hello.”

And that is what the unexpected guest did.

As he crossed the room, Lavinia noticed that one person in particular was tracking the prince as he approached the beautiful ballerina.

With a look that seemed intense, even concerned?

Myrna Thornhill.

The prince came to stand beside the prima ballerina, quite close actually, and engaged her in conversation. Again, he was certainly bold – though Cassandra didn’t seem bothered at all by that.

In fact, if anything, all smiles, a flip of her hair – she seemed to possibly welcome the royal attention.

As Lavinia took in this development, she saw Benton approaching.

“Mrs Woodfine has prepared the Rose Room for the prince, m’lady, and his valet Millet has been allocated a room in the servants’ quarters near the bells.”

“Very good,” said Lavinia.

“Shall I announce dinner shortly, m’lady?”

Lavinia looked around the room. Although the prince was still on his first glass of champagne – the others clearly looked well-fuelled

“Why yes. I think that would be a very good idea, Benton,” she said, smiling. And she watched him head off to sound the gong in the hall.

*